Letters from the Faroe Islands
August 31, 2025, 10:15am Local Time
Vágar
We depart today. Austin is excited, if anxious. I feel a mix of a kind of trepidation and, not quite regret but something similar. I wonder if this is how I shall feel near death—a sense of having not quite done enough... lived enough. Of course, now I already plan on returning. I have learned much. But what does it say about my nature, that this trip centered on a monumental life milestone should also be so like a scouting trip? As if these days, and by extension, these decades, are only in preparation for something more?
My uncle, who I have already invited out here, has told me since I was about twelve that my twenties would suck and that I would excel in my thirties. Looking back on this year, and this week, I am inclined to agree with him. It has not always been positive, nothing is so, but it has been marked by a kind of expansion I did not think possible. Why I doubt myself while also championing myself, I do not know. Anxiety? Or my own kind of twisted "stay humble."
Spoiled grape juice, indeed.
Yesterday, we checked out of our cabin in Sørvágur and headed out on a boat tour to Drangarnir. Like so much of this trip, this did not feel real. That these things should exist in nature only reminds me not only of how little of the world I have seen, but how much beauty remains in so small a slice of the world such as these islands. Our guide, who could not have been more than eighteen, still in braces, maneuvered skillfully over the rocks and hills during the hike, and shared the same sarcastic, dismissive, endearing nature as so many Faroese. We briefly chatted with and befriended a German man and a couple from Arizona. The boat itself was small, with seats more like horse saddles, and I immediately felt how Ethan should have loved the ride. My only regret is that, for Austin's lack of hiking shoes and vertigo, and my own ankle sprain, we returned earlier than intended—and I did not feel I had the time to appreciate what we beheld sufficiently.
Never fear! Our guide, a different guide, actually, was so dismayed at our early return (You hated it! How are you done?!) that he put us on a different guided boat tour. Some, if not all, of what we passed, we had already seen, but not with the benefit of local information nor from a seaborne perspective. New, though, was a hidden black sand beach and a pod of dolphins! I will swear down that I saw a puffin, though I cannot be entirely sure. It is the end of their season here.
A nice, simple lunch at Cafe Pollostova in Sørvágur, and then to our final hotel: Hotel Vágar. From there, back to OY, which seems to be a kind of gathering place for expatriates of all shades, as who should we run into but our new German friend. We bought him a beer, and had a long, travel-centric conversation before dinner at Ræst.
What a meal that was. On the one hand, a very well-executed and thoroughly researched and informative dining experience full of local and international flavor. On the other, quite heartening for the similarities in my own work as well. Patterns repeated, and patterns revisited. I feel a renewed pride for what I do as a result, and something like a recognition of my trade. Sadly, and I am saying sadly, no whale meat consumed. But maybe next time? Which, of course, there shall be.
I have taken almost 2,000 photos. I have journaled almost every morning. Gone for walks. Drank water! Not quite habits, but the initial steps towards them. What quality of life I had can be improved. I do not know, nor can I know, the long-term effects of a trip like this. Nor, even, the short-term. For now, it is nearly time to go to the airport. This week, this chapter, is closing. How fortunate are we to have written it.
-JXMC